Vows

by Rochelle Alers

  Taking Jenna home had provided him with an excuse not to stay and listen to Warren’s gung ho speech to people he referred to as his troops, nor to watch Stanton Reid covet his wife.

  Joshua entered the small hotel and headed for the concierge’s desk. He had chosen the Meridian over the better-known major chains because of its charm and elegance. One hundred years ago it had been a popular mission along the Santa Fe Trail.

  He picked up his key and several telephone messages, flipping through the messages as he walked slowly toward the staircase. Vertical lines formed between his eyes when he saw the name on one of the slips of paper. His gaze swept quickly over the neatly printed message: CALL HOME. VERY IMPORTANT! Martin Cole.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced down the hallway to his room. It took him less than sixty seconds to unlock the door and dial the number of his half-brother’s residence. The tele phone rang twice on the other end before the connection was broken.

  “Cole residence” came a drawling female voice.

  “Martin Cole, please,” he snapped with barely controlled patience.

  “Hold on, sir.”

  He didn’t realize he’d been drumming his fingers until he heard the familiar voice. “Martin Cole.”

  “What’s up, Martin?”

  There was a conspicuous pause before Martin’s voice came through the line again. “It’s Sammy.”

  Joshua’s pulse quickened. “What about him?”

  “He’s—”

  “Is he dead, Martin?”

  “No, Josh. He’s not dead, but he’s close to it. He’s suffered a stroke.”

  Closing his eyes, Joshua pressed his head against the cushion on the sofa. “How bad is he?”

  “There’s some paralysis on his right side, and some speech impairment.”

  “Why are you calling me?”

  “Because he’s asking for you, Buddy.”

  “How the hell can he ask for me when he can’t even talk, Martin!”

  “He can’t speak in complete sentences, but he can say your name.” There was another pause. “Let it go, Josh. Let go of the bitterness just this one time. Come and see your father before he dies.”

  “Damn him,” he whispered harshly. “Damn his soul to Hell.”

  “He may be damned, and he may be going to Hell, but he’s still your father.”

  Joshua clutched the telephone receiver in a death grip as he struggled to control his breathing. The man he could never acknowledge as father, could never call “father,” was lying in a hospital in Florida and asking for him. For what? To ask for forgiveness? To make peace? To try and make up for more than thirty-nine years of denial?

  “Where is he, Martin?” His expression was a mask of stone as he listened to his brother’s voice, nodding slowly. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  The telephone receiver fell from his limp fingers back to its cradle. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. Vanessa—his angel. Just when he’d found her again he had to leave her.

  Dreading the inevitable, Joshua picked up the telephone and dialed Vanessa’s number. His voice was a monotone when he left his message on her voice mail. Depressing the hook, he dialed the operator and asked for an airline carrier, to secure a reservation for his flight from Santa Fe to West Palm Beach, Florida.

  Chapter 26

  Vanessa sat with Stanton, Lisabeth, and her date at one of the ten round tables set out on the expanse of lawn at the rear of Warren McDonald’s house.

  He tested a portable microphone given to him by one of the musicians he had hired for the evening’s festivities.

  “Good evening.” His pleasantly modulated voice carried well in the open space. “I know most of you don’t want to be here.” There was an undercurrent of laughter and gesturing protests from the assembled. “But I’m going to make it worth your while having to give up whatever it is most of you do on Saturday nights. Thanks to our budget projections for the upcoming fiscal year, no one, and I repeat, no one, will be let go with the impending merger.”

  Vanessa smiled at Lisabeth, who clapped wildly at the news. Everyone rose to their feet, applauding, while several of the men placed fingers in their mouths and whistled loudly.

  “I want that in writing!” a man from the legal department shouted.

  A wide grin split Warren’s handsome, brown face. “You have my word, John. Shouldn’t that be enough?” Everyone nodded in approval. “Now that I’ve gotten everyone’s attention—let’s have a damn good time tonight!”

  His short speech set the tone for the celebrating with an inexhaustible quantity of food, liquid beverages and live music that continued well into the night.

  Vanessa pleaded fatigue around eleven-thirty and asked Stanton to take her home. Now that she had submitted the budgets she would cut back on her hours, but she needed to catch up on her sleep.

  She was also looking forward to spending the night with Joshua and being able to sleep late for the first time in two weeks. It also would be their first night together when he wouldn’t have to leave her bed before dawn.

  She hadn’t told Connie that she was bringing Joshua to dinner with her, and she wondered what her sister’s reaction would be when she finally met the man who was responsible for her younger sister’s disturbing dreams.

  Stanton turned off the local road and onto the private one where Vanessa’s house sat in a cul-de-sac with twelve other Spanish style townhouses.

  He pulled into her driveway and put his two-seater Porsche in park. “It turned out to be a very good party.”

  Vanessa smiled at him. “It had all of the makings of a wake until Warren’s announcement.” Unbuckling her seat belt, she leaned over and pressed a kiss on Stanton’s cheek. “Thanks again for coming with me.”

  Resting an arm along the back of her seat, he trailed his fingers over her jaw. “Thanks for inviting me.” He smiled. “We get along so well that there’re times when I think about asking you to marry me.”

  “That’s when we’d stop getting along.”

  Stanton nodded. “You’re probably right. I’ve always been a better boyfriend than a husband.”

  Pulling his hand gently away from her cheek, Vanessa examined his pleasant features. “Even if I wanted to marry you, I couldn’t.” Not when she was already another man’s wife. She kissed Stanton again, then pushed the car door open, stepped out into the cool summer night, and walked the half dozen steps to her front door. She unlocked the door, waved to him, then closed it behind her, shutting out the night and Stanton.

  Bending over, she eased her feet out of her high-heeled sandals. The colorful straps dangling on a forefinger, she walked barefoot across the living room and up the staircase to her bedroom.

  The blinking red light on the bedside telephone glowed eerily in the room.

  Making her way to the table, she punched in the code and listened intently as Joshua’s voice came through the speaker. The moment he’d said her name she knew something was wrong. He wanted her to call him as soon as she got in.

  Waiting until the message ended, she dialed the number of his hotel. He picked up the phone after the first ring.

  “Kirkland.”

  “It’s me.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  His terse message sent a shiver of uneasiness through her. What had happened between the time he left to take Jenna home and returned to his hotel? Vanessa refused to imagine.

  She heard the sound of a car’s engine and opened the door to find Joshua striding up the path. An idling taxi waited in her driveway.

  Her frantic gaze swept over his drawn features. He had exchanged his suit for a pair of slacks and a lightweight summer jacket. He stepped into the entry and partially closed the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  Joshua registered the tremor of fear in his wife’s voice, but refused to acknowledge it. He had to remain indifferent. If not, then he wouldn’t be able to leave her.

  “My fath
er has suffered a stroke.”

  Vanessa’s eyes widened at his disclosure. “How is he?”

  “I’m told that he’s been stabilized.”

  Her arms went around his neck as she buried her face in his warm throat. “How long will you be away?”

  Reaching up, he removed her arms from his neck. “I don’t know.” Tightening his hold on her hands, he brought them to his lips and kissed her fingers as his gaze bore into hers. “I wanted to spend the night with you.”

  “Go to your father, Joshua. He needs you more than I do right now.”

  He wanted to tell Vanessa that he needed her more than his father did him. He, who had never needed anyone, needed her. “I’ll call you from Florida.”

  She managed a smile. “I’ll say a prayer for him.”

  He nodded. “Thanks.” Leaning over, he kissed her mouth lightly. “I have to go or I’ll miss my flight.”

  Turning, he opened the door, then closed it. Vanessa stood staring at the door for a full minute before she turned the lock. This time she’d had Joshua for two weeks instead of one. She wondered how long she would have to wait to see him again.

  The slight puffiness under Joshua’s eyes mirrored his exhaustion as he walked into Samuel Cole’s hospital room. He had taken the red eye from Santa Fe to El Paso, Texas, before catching a connecting flight to West Palm Beach. He’d stopped at his apartment in Palm Beach long enough to shower, change clothes, then returned to West Palm Beach.

  Martin Cole sat on a chair near the bed, asleep. His once raven black, curly hair was liberally streaked with gray, adding character to his forty-five-year-old face instead of age.

  Joshua placed a hand on his half-brother’s shoulder and shook him gently. Martin woke up, staring up at him with a pair of eyes that were as black as pitch.

  Rising slowly to his feet, he gave Joshua a quick, rough embrace. “Thanks for coming, Buddy.”

  Joshua turned his gaze on the prone figure on the bed for the first time. Various machines monitored Samuel Cole’s respiration, blood pressure and other vital signs, the beeping sounds reverberating loudly in the silent room.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” Joshua urged softly.

  “I’ll do that after I check on M.J.”

  “How is she holding up?”

  “You know my mother. She’s not one to go to pieces in front of anyone. The doctor sedated her, so she’s holding up as well as can be expected.”

  “I’ll stay here until you get back,” he offered.

  Martin Cole stared at the man whose height was the only physical characteristic they had in common—other than the blood of their father.

  Joshua stood at the foot of Samuel Cole’s bed a long time after Martin left. He’d tried to rid himself of the bitterness that had taken root at another time and another place, but failed.

  His cold gaze lingered on Samuel’s face, seeing a man whose political influence and money were now as worthless as a single drop of water in the desert. Moving closer, he noticed that the debilitating stroke had taken the rich color from the golden brown face and withered the solid bulk Samuel had carried well into middle age. Even the thick, white hair he wore with pride was sparse and brittle. For the first time Samuel Claridge Cole looked every year of his seventy-three years of living.

  Moving slowly to the head of the bed, Joshua sat down on a chair, reaching out and running his fingers along the back of his father’s inert hand. For a man of his height and bulk, Samuel Cole had incredibly slender hands, hands Joshua had inherited from him, along with his coloring.

  “You wanted to see me, Old Man,” he whispered harshly to the sleeping patient, “and I’m here. Just what the hell did you want to see me about? Did you want to tell me how sorry you are that you ruined the life of a young woman you just had to have? That even though you had a wife of your own you just couldn’t stay away from her?

  “You claim that you hate me—well, the feeling is mutual, Old Man. I hate you, too. I hate you for the self-indulgent bastard that you are. You’re a taker and a user, Samuel Cole, and I hope you rot in hell for all of the dirty dealing you’ve perpetrated over the years.”

  Leaning closer, he peered down at the composed features of the man he despised more than any other human being he’d ever known. “You gave Teresa Maldonado a job in your company. Then you set out to seduce her. She was only eighteen, a first-year college student and a virgin, and you, nearly twice her age, used intimidation and bribery to rob her of her innocence.

  “And when she came to you with the news that she was expecting your child you gave her hush money, bribing one of your trusty corporate flunkies to marry her so that she wouldn’t disgrace her devoutly Catholic, immigrant Cuban family.

  “She despised Everett Kirkland as much as she loved you. She didn’t think I knew that she cried every time he exercised what he considered his conjugal rights. And because you were paying him, the greedy bastard hung around for sixteen years. He realized the money wasn’t enough when I told him that I would kill him if he ever touched my mother again.

  “I had only one argument with my mother, and that was when she mentioned that you were able to help me get into West Point. For seventeen years she never asked you for anything for herself. But she swallowed her pride, hid her feelings, and came to you for me. And no matter what she said, I know I would’ve gotten into West Point without your intervention.

  “And what I could not fathom was that she loved you, Sammy. Why, I don’t know. She never stopped loving you, not even on her deathbed.

  “I hope you can hear me, Old Man, because I want you to lie on your back for a long time and repent, repent for all of the lives you’ve manipulated and ruined.”

  Emotionally drained, he stood up and walked out of the room, his chest rising and falling heavily; he was unaware that Samuel Cole’s eyes opened briefly, the lids fluttering weakly, as a single tear trickled down his drooping right cheek.

  Joshua Kirkland stood in the silent, empty hallway, head bowed. He had waited all of his life to unburden himself to Samuel Cole, but having done so he felt no measure of satisfaction. He’d spewed his pain, his venom, leaving a void that needed filling. He had let go of the bitterness, but needed something else to take its place.

  His troubled thoughts turned to Vanessa, wanting and needing her more than he wanted or needed anyone else in his life. He glanced down at his watch and sighed heavily. It was three o’clock Mountain Time. He couldn’t call her—not yet.

  Turning, he reentered the room, sat down on the chair Martin had vacated, and waited.

  The ringing of the telephone jerked Vanessa from her much-needed sleep Sunday morning. Groping for the telephone, she picked up the receiver after several attempts.

  “Hel-lo.”

  “Vanessa?”

  She sat up, her pulse accelerating. “Joshua? How was your flight? How’s your father?”

  “One question at a time, Angel. My flight was okay, and my father is holding his own.”

  Bracing her back against a mound of pillows, she pulled her knees to her chest. It had taken a catastrophe for Joshua to reconcile with his father. “What do you mean he’s holding his own?”

  “He’s not on life support.”

  Vanessa wanted to ask him how he was holding up. If he had made his peace with his father. But more importantly, she wanted to know when he was coming back to Santa Fe. She didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

  “I’m not certain when I’m coming back, Angel. Once there’s a change in his condition—either way—I’ll be back.”

  As casually as she could manage, she said, “Keep in touch.”

  There was a punctuated pause from Joshua. “I will.”

  Those were the last words they exchanged before they hung up simultaneously.

  Chapter 27

  The next three weeks had come and gone quickly for Vanessa. Joshua called her every morning and at night, reporting that his father’s condition had not changed
. His calls always ended with a declaration of love, and that he missed her. Hearing his voice buoyed her spirits, allaying the foreboding that his absence would signal a repeat of what had happened in Mexico.

  She found it hard to believe that it was five weeks since he had come back into her life, because the time had passed so quickly. Within another three they would be able to live openly as husband and wife.

  Rescheduling her own time to accommodate her approaching shorter work week, she met with her staff and Warren. Shane worked well with Frank, which helped to speed the process of closing out the fiscal year.

  She also met with Preston on alternating evenings for what had become enjoyable dinner meetings. Preston, who developed a passion for Chinese food after a trip to China and Hong Kong, always greeted her arrival with a variety of dishes from an excellent take-out restaurant.

  The phone on her desk buzzed twice, indicating an inside call. She picked up the receiver. “This is Vanessa.”

  “Girlfriend, want to do lunch?”

  Glancing at her appointment calendar, she smiled. Her afternoon was free. She could always count on Lisabeth to get her out of the office. “You’re on. Where do you want to go?”

  “There’s a place in the Plaza that serves wonderful fajitas.”

  The Plaza was so close, so they didn’t have to take their cars. “What if I meet you downstairs in ten minutes?”

  “Make it fifteen, Vanessa. I have to fix my face.”

  As she readied herself to go to lunch with Lisabeth, Warren rapped lightly on the open door, his solid bulk filling out the doorway. He flashed a winning smile.

  “Do you have a few minutes?”

  She stood up. “Yes—a few.”

  Closing the door, he walked into the office. His dark gaze lingered briefly on her face, then shifted to a point over her head.

  “Sometimes I don’t say it often enough, but I wanted to let you know that I appreciate how you’ve filled in for Preston. The work you did on the projections was truly exceptional.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Warren, but I just do what I’m paid to do.”